


Five O'Clock Shadows

by SaltyWords (agent4hire22)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Dean, Canon Divergent after 12x03, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Feelings, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, Playful Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex Is Fun, Stripping, Top Castiel, Traveling Sexcapades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8642776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent4hire22/pseuds/SaltyWords
Summary: It’s just, Cas had come home and said all the wonderful fucking things Dean always needed to hear, and Dean didn’t have a wall for any of it to bounce off of. Those earnest, blue eyes so necessarily digging claim into the center of his heart. From the moment Cas plopped onto the chair beside him, Dean never stood a chance. He was a fucking sucker for the guy. Always had been, and it'd  hardly been the appropriate time to test his resolve.And sure, maybe it’d started as a moment of weakness, or another one of Dean’s self-destructive attempts at imminent demise, as soon as Cas caught the hook and held it, the game changed.For good.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is really a porn with plot thinly veiled as a second half to my earlier coda  
> [Cornerstone](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8437126).  
> Did I get a little carried away? Maybe... But I'm not sorry.  
> They needed it. I needed it. Maybe you all need it too.

At some point, the grip the whiskey had on Dean went out like an easy breath and sobriety greeted him from inside the twisting television light. John McClane and Hans Gruber were fighting it out for the second time that night while Dean comfortably stretched out on the couch, head in Cas’ lap and fingers passively playing at his shirt buttons. 

The tv room was as far as he’d let Cas bring him. He wasn't going to go to bed. Not tonight. 

So, they sat, and they started movies, and Dean made himself comfortable because he had a buzz to wait out.

The thing was, he’d been drunker before. There was no lie there. If drinking was heavy lifting, then he was Arnold Schwarzenegger in the good ol’ days. It started as soon as Sam had called it a night, Dean cracked a bottle and began tearing the wall down shot by shot. But his venture to the bottom was cut short long before he’d started swimming. 

It’d been the emotion that took his feet out. Made him needy. Easy. Self-destructive. And when the moonlight was the only thing cooling the colors in the room, loneliness had found its way to the center of his mind and burrowed like a tick.

No more wall meant he was a quick, puddled mess of plaid and tears all over the kitchen floor. Because-- _fuck it--_ he was an emotional guy, and he could only ever hold it in for so goddamn long before the levy broke and everything came water falling out.

All the regret.

Mistakes.

The boatload of what-ifs that plagued him during the quiet hours.

They were always there, and that was all fine because, it was _usual. Typical_.

It’s just… Cas had come home, and Dean hadn’t been prepared for it. 

_No--_ It’s just, Cas had come home and said all the wonderful fucking things Dean always needed to hear, and Dean didn’t have a wall for any of it to bounce off of. Those earnest, blue eyes so necessarily digging claim into the center of his heart. From the moment Cas plopped onto the chair beside him, Dean never stood a chance. He was a fucking sucker for the guy. Always had been, and it'd hardly been the appropriate time to test his resolve. 

And sure, maybe it’d started as a moment of weakness, or another one of Dean’s self-destructive attempts at imminent demise, as soon as Cas caught the hook and held it, the game changed.

For good.

Because what Dean hadn’t expected was that reaction. All the stifled looks and corralled yearning. Those unsteady fingers and desperate lips. The knee Cas had dropped just to stop his world from catching fire. Because it was just that fucking important.

It was beautiful. Sobering.

There was something so much more behind his touch than Dean could’ve ever predicted, and now that they’d crossed the line, he’d seen it. Knew it. And he couldn’t even be sure he had a piece on this board anymore, because he’d never played this game. This one started with the way Cas looked in the muted tv light, and ended with the light brush of fingers through Dean’s hair as the movie played. 

There was no in between.

No more questions, because Dean was stretched out on all the answers, whiskey flavor staling in his mouth and breath, a warm kind of heavy. He didn’t need anyone to tell him he had everything. He felt it in Cas’ lazy heat and gentle touch. Saw it in the playful curve of his neck and the turn of his jaw. That expression. The one Cas was giving the tv, it was syrupy thick. It was curious and sincere. Waiting. Watching. Infinitely patient and somehow just as rushed. Eyes at the tv, but attention at his lap: on what Dean was doing. It was something Dean wouldn’t erase if he had a king-size whiteout and a still frame edit of his fucked up life. All of it, something that, for tonight anyway, Dean couldn’t peel his eyes away from. It was everything he’d ever been looking for at the bottom of that bottle.

So, he watched Cas while Cas watched the movie, because, at any moment, it was all gonna slip back out again, another self-indulgent daydream. Or, it would if he didn’t play his cards right.

This was the turning point, and it looked like flushed cheeks and a furrowed brow. A coy tongue playing at the edges of pink lips. _A one-shot opportunity._

Dean pulled at Cas’ shirt again, button between his fingers. “Why don’t you ever just wear a t-shirt?” he asked, breaking the comfortable 80s action movie murmur. 

Cas mindlessly grabbed at his hand and pulled it off, glanced down and did a double take when he noticed Dean’s eyes on him. “You’re supposed to be watching the movie,” he mumbled. His voice came out graveled and low. A hint of sweetness that sugared the early morning air.

“Yeah, well, I’m _supposed to_ be doing a lot of things I ain’t.”

A little smile sat hot at the edges of Cas’ mouth. “Why not?” he asked carefully.

“Because, I’m watchin’ you.”

Just like the fingers through Dean’s hair earlier, Cas’ hands gave him away. The one he had perched at the top of the couch came down and slipped over the curve of Dean’s chest, rested easy at his side.

“What would I wear a t-shirt for?” he sighed.

“Well, comfort for one.”

“I’ve worn t-shirts before. They’re just as comfortable as my suit.”

Dean waved his hands. “No, no, no. I’m not talkin’ about some kinda bargain-bin Hanes shit you wore when you were playing human. I’m talkin’ about _the perfect shirt:_ An over-washed cotton AC DC band shirt about 50 loads past its death. Black-faded-brown, and holes in the seams. Barely any graphic left. The whole nine. It’s the stuff dreams are made of, I'm tellin’ you. You ain’t lived til you’ve had one on.”

Cas chuckled, cocked his chin. The tv lit his face for a moment before clouding his expression again in shadow. Dean didn’t need the light to know he’d hooked Cas’ attention. 

“That’s an oddly specific shirt,” he said finally.

“ Yeah it is. Maybe cuz I got a couple in my room.” Dean smirked, kept that finger toiling at Cas’ buttons, slipped it into the space between two and flirted with the  _ idea _ of touching his skin. “You wanna try one on?”

Cas went rosy. Those eyes combing over Dean as that smile baked at the edges of his mouth. 

“Try on one of your shirts?”

“Yeah. Try on one of my shirts. Wear it a bit. You know.” Dean bit the inside of his cheeks, threaded Cas’ tie through loose fingers, heart flipping in his chest because all he had to do was arch up just a little, and they’d be kissing again. “I happen to think you’d look good in some of my stuff.”

Bruce Willis limped through the glass on the tv screen, and Cas jumped eye contact just to track it. “You should watch your movie, Dean,” he said again, unsteady. Unsure.

Still avoiding. 

Dean checked his watch: _5 O’clock_. 

He quickly kicked a leg down and sat up, listened to his spine reset as he swung around. Cas moved his hands surprised, pulled them in. Eyes growing wider and shoulders more narrow. He looked like this was it: the implosion, so Dean touched his arm. 

“Hey… I owe you a big thank you for last night,” he said slowly. “An’ I also owe you more than a couple _sorry_ s.”

“No, Dean--”

“Yeah, I do. Just lemme say it. I was an asshole, and I’m sorry for that. I am. That was… I was shitty. I know it. I shouldn’t’ve done it…” He took a breath, held it, waited as it slipped out slow. “ But…I ain’t sorry it happened. Thing is, I’ve been sober for a couple hours. I’m still layin’ here, man. On top of you.”

He tugged Cas’ arm, slid fingers down his wrist, juggled a fair amount of butterflies as he did. Cas’ big eyes talked back while the rest of him sat silent as death, except for the color on his cheeks.  The disheveled look of his hair. The coat and suit jacket he’d shirked onto a nearby chair hours ago. Rolled sleeves and quiet waiting making him look somehow both totally at home and totally alien all at once. 

Dean just wanted to finger comb his fucking hair down. Kiss a scarlet flush into his cheeks. Show him just how serious he was, so, he eased forward and stole a taste of Cas’ lips. Noses brushing. 

Cas let him in, responded with an eager lean. Snagged Dean with a hand at the back of his neck and held him there, breath a jumpy huff. 

He still smelled just as breezy and fresh as Dean remembered through the liquor haze, and he knew Cas was getting the raw end of the deal on this one, but he didn’t think anyone was complaining.

They parted and Cas nosed him, eyelashes brushing gentle lines.

Dean worried his lip, swallowed. Tried to corral the smile that took him anyway, because it was easier to let it loose than to own the hot flush that followed everything a moment after. 

He cleared his throat. 

“It’s morning. I ain’t wakin’ up with a big blank space where last night used to be if that’s what you think,” he whispered. “And maybe you think that’s why I stayed up, but it ain’t. I stayed up cuz I’m done waiting. The sun might not be up yet, but I’m callin’ it anyway. I’m askin’ again:

“What would you do if for once, I was sober and I kissed you?” 

Cas’ eyes were heavy, settled at Dean’s mouth. That hand still clinging to the back of his neck for a handhold, because it sure as fuck felt like rock climbing. One wrong move, and someone was gonna lose a life.

Suddenly he grabbed a sharp breath from between them, and dragged Dean for another kiss. Rougher than the first. He opened and let Dean taste him. All prescient, fresh ethereal flavors and reckless tongue. Sodden fingers. 

His hands traveled. Down Dean’s neck. His chest. Down his sides with a calculated slide. 

His touch was electric. It filled Dean’s skin with goosebumps and chased them with a gut level kick of need. Dean had never felt so wanted. So goddamn _necessary_. 

He strained in his jeans, gasped, grabbed a handful of Cas’ hair. Cas broke the kiss to get a taste of Dean’s neck. His earlobe. That forgotten, little divot behind his jaw. He moaned and quickly groped for just one fucking way he could crawl on top of the guy without coming off as desperate. He came up empty, but swung a leg over anyway. Straddled Cas, propped up as his knees, weight digging into the couch. 

Cas slipped an irked glance up. “You're such a relentless flirt when you want something,” he huffed. 

Dean smiled. “You bet your ass I am. That piss you off?”

He was trying for cocky, but undershot. Landed somewhere around wrecked and Cas called his bluff. Grabbed Dean by the hips, pulled him forward. Lifted his shirt and sunk a hot kiss onto his stomach. A scrape of teeth. Sucked a mark. It dredged a warm groan from the bottom of Dean’s throat and flushed out a new rushing buzz. 

Dean bent and nipped a kiss from Cas’ lips, was a little more than surprised when Cas took advantage of the position and pulled Dean’s belt and opened his zipper. He dug fingers into the flesh at Dean’s hips, swept fingertips into the waistband of his boxers with one fluid motion. He pulled Dean’s underwear down just enough that his dick slipped free. And it was no secret anymore: the promise of Cas’ touch was just about enough to get Dean off. 

His dick shuddered, cried.

He whined as Cas tested the tip of it, licking a shock of pleasure with that quick tongue. He took the pre come off the top, tasted it and grabbed Dean’s eyes before wrapping him in his lips. He sucked a gut-wracking dose of hot velvet over the head, down his shaft. That tongue fanning along the bottom. So eager. Hungry.

Dean huffed.

“Oh, fuck.”

He folded over. Hands burying into the back of the couch just to brace himself, before they grew a mind of their own and knit into Cas’ hair. Cas hummed, and Dean felt it through his body. 

It was too much. _Zero_ to _holy shit_ in less than 60 seconds _\--_ He just wasn’t gonna take long. Because it’d been awhile… Because he’d blue-balled it all night already… Because he was only human, _goddammit_ , and this was _Cas._ This particular situation a fucking fantasy scenario he’d had as quick-access spank bank material for at least a couple years, and it never failed to get him off.

_A goddamn dream realized._

There was no _workin’ up to it._

Dean pushed him back. “Slow down,” he begged breathless, but Cas contested. That tongue flicking out again, licking a circle over the head of Dean’s cock, petting the nerves underneath. When Dean wouldn’t let him reach, he slipped a tight fist down it instead, spit-slick and steady.

Dean’s stomach trilled. 

He panted and let Cas loose. Gasped as his dick sunk back into Cas’ hot, tight mouth.

“God, I’m gonna come.”

Cas licked up his shaft again, made a delightful little pop sound as his lips broke the seal. “Then come,” he dared in a basal whisper. Those blue eyes fixed on Dean’s face. Hungry as ever. His fist filling in the gaps his absent mouth left. The rhythm unforgiving.

Dean tried to save it. Dropped to Cas’ lap to bite an angry mark into his collarbone, but it was already too late. He came with a gut-level roll of pleasure. Stomach balled as tight as the fingers in Cas’ hair. His moan derailed him. He buried his face in the crook of Cas’ neck and tried to cut it off. Failed.

He breathed and tried to gather himself up. 

_Yeah… Shit. That didn't go as planned._

When he finally got the courage to peel back, the mask of embarrassment he felt obligated to wear sucked out in Cas’ expression: chin cocked and eyes dark. That little, pleased smile pulling his mouth crooked. Spunk like an impression of a Jackson Pollock all over his tie, his shirt. A little on his chin. 

_So goddamn impressed with himself. First time needs a redo, but, whatever, I can still pick it up._

Dean sighed, smiled. “Well, hell,” he said, cuz he might as well give it to him, “now I guess you really need that old shirt.” 

He wiped Cas’ chin clean. 

_Okay, shake it off, Winchester. Round Two._

He cleared his throat again, grabbed a quick peck from Cas’ lips as he got back up on his knees and tugged Cas’ hips forward.

Cas looked down surprised. “What are you doing?”

“I’m, uh--” Dean cracked a lopsided grin “--I’m returning the favor.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Ch-yeah.” 

He leaned forward, loosened Cas’ tie, fumbled for his buttons. Kissed him again.

“It's… really, honestly alright, Dean,” Cas said against him, and Dean pulled back, frowned.

“The hell’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. I just--I have no delusions that I’m your, uh, “type”, so I figured--”

Dean caught Cas as he moved to make finger quotes. “I'm gonna stop you right there--” he said sharply. “Don’t get it bent. I ain't usin’ you to get off. That’s not what I meant when I started this just now, and it sure as hell ain’t what I meant last night when I was kinda being an asshole about it.”

“I wasn’t trying to imply you were using me. I’m happy to h--”

“Okay, stop.” Dean pinched the top of his nose. If he let this  go, it was gonna be the quickest goddamn way to shove a stick through the spokes. They’d go from one fucked up, beautiful, night to never talking again in a heartbeat. Sam would ask what happened, and there’d only be one fucking answer:

_Oh, yeah, he sucked me off the other night, thought I was usin’ him like a dine-in-dash hooker, and I didn’t set him straight. Turns out he ended up having feelings about that. Who’d a thought?_

So, if he had to spell it out for Cas, he would. They’d gone too far to turn back. 

_Communicate, communicate, fuckin’ communicate._

“How ‘bout we try getting on the same page for once, huh?” he said slowly. He sat back down at Cas’ knees. 

“Do you understand what you mean to me?” he asked, brow furrowed and finger at his chest. It was so quiet, the goddamn baseboards wouldn’t have been able to hear him if they’d tried. “You have any idea?” 

Cas blinked, mouth opening but nothing coming out.

“This right here--” Dean turned the finger on him “--it ain’t a consolation prize. You an’ me, like this. It’s everything I been waitin’ for. And I’m gonna be a fuckin’ girl about it for a second, because you told me you loved me last night.”

“I do,” Cas said quickly. Dean stuttered shut, gusto knocked out at the knees. 

That, as it turned out, was a swift kick to the diaphragm. 

He swallowed a fresh wave of salty tears and trudged on. “Well, I’m sitting here right now tryin’ to tell you the same thing. Pay attention.” 

Cas went still.

“I mean this to be a two man show, you an’ me. Unless you're tellin’ me you ain't interested in that.” He paused, looked at Cas. Jaw set and bracing. “Is that what you’re saying?”

Cas snapped a quick breath. “No.” He chased Dean for a timid kiss, but Dean dodged, palmed Cas’ chest and pushed him back against the couch again.

“You scare the hell outta me, you know that?” he continued. All the steady was drown out of his voice. “In… all the good ways. Cuz, I don’t need you, Cas. I _want you._ Do you get it?”

A tear tore a track through Cas’ cheek. It hung off his jaw before jumping, splattering Dean’s knee. He nodded quick and sticky, then, “Yes.” His voice just as shallow in his chest. 

Now they were both ripped open and inside out. It was a kind of raw that left a mark, good or bad when everything was said and done. This one felt like it was gonna be a good one. 

He kissed Cas softly, and Cas wiped the tears from Dean’s face.

They were back to where they’d started the night before. Except this time the daylight was pulling the shadows from all their corners, and all the shit they’d been hiding behind for years was knocked flat. 

Dean broke into a sloppy smile. “I mean, I also really love bacon, full disclosure, so, you’re gonna have to share.”

Cas narrowed eyes on him. “Like… sexually?”

Dean popped a lip and shrugged. “Yeah, lil’ bit,” he said, then waited as Cas smiled.

_Okay, enough. Reset._

He palmed Cas’ jaw, took a deep breath and shook it off. He slipped backwards off the couch and dragged Cas up with him. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Bedroom.”

“Okay…” but it came out like a question.

“We’re slowin’ it down.”

“Slowing what down?”

“All of it.”

They left Bruce Willis to deal with the death of Hans and the end credits alone. 

  
  


In the room, Dean went straight for his nightstand. To the half-drank tumbler sitting next to his half-read self-help book on family relations. A fifth of Jack next to it in the same sorry state, the cap loosely screwed. He flipped the book top side down, and drew the last swallow from the glass before pouring a fresh one.

Cas shuffled in the middle of the room, door behind him still open wide. Tie hanging loose and shirt rumpled from the couch. _Dirty too_. 

Dean watched as Cas side-glanced the bed.

_Oh, wonderful,_ he thought. _He’s nervous._ _Of course Cas is nervous._ _Leave it to him to suck a guy off--skillfully, at that--then get gun-shy two minutes later…_

Dean shook his head. 

Maybe it was because the bedroom was quieter than the front room. Thicker with secrets and potential. It was probably why Dean could hear his own heart beating, loud in his chest now when he didn’t before. Or, he’d thought it was Cas’... 

The tingling pleasure he’d just reaped from the couch was slinking out, and his body was waking up. His brain was all stuck up on Cas. All his little micro expressions, movements. The tilt of his head and mindful curl of his fingers as he searched aimlessly for somewhere to put them. Dean wasn’t seeing him for the first time, _no_ , but he sure as hell was seeing him in full technicolor glory now. And that was like living in the dark for most of his life, and finally finding someone who knew how to flip on the lights.

He moved to him, shut the door on his way, swirling the glass before offering it up.

“Should I be concerned you have a bottle in here?” Cas asked, gingerly taking it. 

“Probably no point.” Dean winked, tapped the bottom. “Drink ‘er up, Hef.”

He waited as Cas tracked him, those blue eyes pulling the yellow table light, pooling it as summer skies. He finally took a healthy mouthful, swallowed it down, licked it from his lips, and Dean watched him. The sight of it woke his dick up again, and he mentally berated himself. 

His turn was over. This was about Cas. 

_First time: Round Three. Bell’s soundin’._

“Let’s talk about you,” he started as he tucked up to Cas, hand at the small of his back. If he’d been smart enough to put some music on before this, it would be the part where they danced. In full chick-flick glory. He’d feel dumb for doing it later, but it would feel so fucking honest right now. 

Instead, he moved to Cas’ hips, tugged his pelvis closer. Pulled them together and brushed a nose up Cas’ jaw, breath soft. Both their faces rough as they slid in place like puzzle pieces. He tempted a kiss and won a taste of the buttery liquor bite from Cas’ tongue.

_Yeah,_ maybe Dean was a little bit of an addict, because this was the kinda contact high he could get real used to. 

He deftly pulled the rest of the knot from Cas’ tie, and the tie from his collar. Left it for the floor to have as he went in for his buttons, slow. The third one down, and Cas’ collarbones unveiled. Dean pecked a kiss into one. Followed the curve of goosebumps up his neck with a trailing finger. Cas rolled warm with it. 

Dean undid another two, and the shirt came open finally and he slipped hands inside. Palms up Cas’ sides to his shoulders as he helped him shrug it off. He ghosted a kiss over Cas’ lips. 

“You know how fuckin’ bad I wanna see that O face?” he whispered, tempting thoughts into the already pregnant air. He rocked a thigh into Cas’ dick, watched it part Cas’ lips in a stilted breath.

Cas was hard. Dick pulling the fabric taught at his zipper. Dean felt it easy through the layers. He fought his own lusty squirm when it became obvious to them both that they were slotted together in more ways than one. 

“Do you know how many times I thought about it when I was jerking off?” 

He slipped hands down Cas’ chest. Admired the curve of his pecs, his firm stomach, the shadowy promise of his hipbones at the edge of his pants. “How many times I imagined you screamin’ my name.”

Cas’ eyes were on him, quiet and dark again. Magnetically charged.

Dean felt his own face go hot. His comments were a double-edged sword. They were both getting gutted, so he stole needy kiss from the flushed skin at Cas’ neck. Bit a mark and left a trophy imprint of his front teeth behind, alongside a shudder. He followed the chills to Cas’ chest and trailed a tongue over a nipple, brushed a warm finger over the other. 

Cas rut into him. Moaned. One hand still at the mercy of that glass, his other sliding over Dean’s shoulders, tempting into his hair. 

Dean slipped a hand down the front of Cas’ pants and stole a feel of him through the silky cotton blend. Cas’ breath stilted on his neck. He rolled hips into Dean. Followed the brush of Dean’s forehead as he toyed the crystal tumbler between his fingers. 

Dean pulled Cas’ zipper, his own dick throbbing as he did, pulled him out, rubbed a thumb over the cleft at the top. The slick already sitting there gliding his touch. He watched Cas shudder, felt him pulse hard in his hand.

He wanted to taste it. Had to taste it.

He dropped to a knee and licked Cas’ dick slow and easy, Cas rallied a heavy breath, hands going into Dean’s hair quick. Those fixed eyes going foggy as all his superficial threads started coming undone. 

Dean tasted the salty pre come peppering it. It was something that managed to taste incredibly similar to whatever ethereal flavor was on Cas’ breath, just enough hint of supernatural to make it dangerous, just enough humanity to make it feel important.

He moved, just a tongue tip at first, then a heavier tread as Cas’ breath urged him on. Over the head, down the underside. Pausing at the bundle of nerves under the top and following that flirt with relief as he traveled the lick back down his shaft. He swallowed Cas up, filled his mouth, lips tight.

Cas suddenly jerked Dean back by the hair, pulled him off. His face red and jaw popped. “How about how all the times you’re gonna scream mine?” he whispered.

Dean’s stomach knit. _Looks like Bambi found his legs._

This was a dance too. It was the kind that was just as good with or without music. 

Dean let him loose and got to his feet again, straightened and they stood nose to nose. Cas pawed his freehand at Dean’s neck, hanging thumb and middle fingers on either side like a perched necklace. Dean swallowed against the gentle pressure. “Well, fuck me,” he hummed. 

“Is that an expression or a request?”

He plucked the whiskey from Cas’ hand, drained the rest and tossed the empty to the bed. It hit and rolled, bounced off the opposite side and clunked against the decorative concrete floor. It managed not to shatter.

Cas cringed “You almost broke that,” he muttered.

“But, it didn’t.”

“You probably could’ve just set it down though.”

“Yeah, but that was more dramatic.”

“Are you trying to be dramatic?”

“A little dramatic.”

They got tangled in a smile and Dean quickly wrung it back out. He bobbed to the dresser and grabbed a bottle of KY from under the socks, tossed it to Cas as he cleared his throat. “Well, come on, then. You heard me. Waitin’ on you, buddy.”

They fell back into stride. Cas stripped Dean’s shirt off, shoved him back. He hit the edge of the bed and toppled onto it, Cas over him. A fresh dose of whiskey mixed into the heat of their mouths. Dean walked hands down Cas’ stomach and twisted an open palm at the top of his dick, listened to him groan as he folded and licked a bite into Dean’s neck. He tugged Dean’s jeans down and Dean helped. He melted like butter a moment later as Cas rolled a lubed fist down his crying dick without warning. A couple long, slow strokes and then he was trailing again. He brushed gentle pressure over Dean’s perineum, over the cleft of his ass and didn’t stop til that curious finger was at its destination. He eased into Dean with a careful pressure. 

Cas slipped a hand down Dean’s thigh, kissed him there. Made his way back up, and licked velvet onto the head of his dick again as he moved his finger, patiently made room. 

Slipped another one in and worked that one too.

Dean growled, dug fingers into Cas’ back as his touch hit all the right places inside. “God, yes,” Dean moaned.

“Nope, that’s not my name. Try again.”

Dean laughed, pulled Cas up and kissed him hard. “That was just a figure of speech,” he said breathlessly.

“Not for some of us.”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry, then.”

“I trust you’ll know how make it up to me.”

“I got a couple ideas,” Dean puffed.

Cas hummed and suddenly pulled his fingers out, tugged Dean to the edge of the bed and flipped him over. “Easy,” Dean balked, heart jumping in his throat. Cas sunk into him slow, waited Dean out. Hands at his hips. The both of them letting their breath tell them when and how to move. 

Dean grunted as Cas rolled into him. “Fuck, Cas. Yes,” he urged, grabbing fistfuls of comforter.

Cas hummed, pet an open palm down his back. “That’s better,” he managed, but his voice was unruly, wracked. He doubled over Dean and breathed hot on his back as he whispered Dean’s name. So desperate and thin, it cured a whole new race of chills.

Cas moaned heady and came. The sloppy slide of him inside of Dean rivaled all the nerves he’d been fighting, and he went right after.

His second orgasm wasn’t as easy as the first. It dug claws into his gut and held tight, struggling out of him as he collapsed into the bedspread face first. He muffled his scream into the mattress. Cas pet a hand down his back, folded over him and hugged his shoulders. Held onto him.

Dean huffed, growled. He was wracked. Fuckin’ done. Cas pulled out collapsed on the bed beside him. Kept a hand on his back, rubbed softly while the room quieted again.

Dean peeked. Cas was looking at him with that same comfortable easiness Dean had grown so accustomed to. Hair unruly and eyes even less tied down. Dean fished his smile back and grunted again, more animated this time. “Guess we can check the _sexually compatible_ box off, huh?”

“Is there a form we have to fill out?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You’re ruining it.”

“You’re the only one who can make jokes?”

“Yes, cuz mine are funny an’ yours ain’t.”

He pat Cas’ stomach and then muscled up on shaky legs. He shirked the bed long enough to grab a t-shirt from his middle dresser drawer. Black-faded brown. Graphics washed ruddy. He tossed it over and it landed on Cas’ chest. Dean leaned against the dresser.

“What did I say? Looks great on you.”

  
  


_______________

  
  


_Bonus_

Sam shuffled, knocked. “Okay, I debated telling you this, but I think it's important to get it outta the way--” he fumbled as Dean opened the bedroom door.

Dean’s face was flushed, hair a disaster, but he looked brand new all folded up in his robe. “What? What's wrong?” he asked quickly.

“Nothing. I just, I thought I was gonna have to clean you off the floor this morning and I'm really happy I don't.”

“Uh, okay. No, I’m good.” He hesitated, hung in the doorway. Pulled it tighter against him.

“Yeah, you are and I'm really happy for that.”

“Okay…” 

“For you.” 

Dean squinted. 

Sam brushed a hand through his hair, down his face, muffled a groan. “I'm gonna go get breakfast. You want anything?” 

“Uh, naw, thanks. I'm good. Probably just get something later.”

“Sure,” Sam shuffled. “That works.” He cleared his throat, folded his arms. “Cas? You, uh, you want anything?” he called into the room.

Dean’s eyes went wide. He froze.

The pause was palpable. Cas drew a gravelly breath and broke it. “Uh, sure. Coffee,” he said quietly, tucked somewhere out of sight.

Sam nodded, mouth drawing a line. He pat Dean's chest. “Walls are thin, dude.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm >[winchester-reload](http://winchester-reload.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! Thanks for the read!


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